


The Discriminating Touch

by Dana



Series: Discretionary [2]
Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex, sassy Sam is sassy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-08
Updated: 2015-10-08
Packaged: 2018-04-25 09:54:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4955806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dana/pseuds/Dana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oh, the loony bastard definitely gets off on the thrill of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Discriminating Touch

**Author's Note:**

> Offering #2 for Porntober 2015! This is a Gene-pov follow-up to [The Discerning Gaze](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4744391), because Harry said some things in that ficlet that just kind of begged for me to write some porn. Er, Harry is not INVOLVED in this porn, sorry(?) - just wanted to make that point clear. XD I think, once upon a time, **talkingtothesky** took a beta look at this for me, but once again I've revised since then. Any remaining mistakes are mine and mine alone.
> 
> This alludes to some things from a BIG wip of mine, sorry for that.

He's paid attention to every little move Sam's made over the last three hours, and not just because he's wanted to: from when he'd first swaggered into Gene's office, the little fiasco involving the glass of good Scotch, to how Sam had laughed with and talked with the plonk when they finally made it to the Arms. What that all lead up to was Gene, sat at a back table with Harry, drinking and doing some talking of their own. Much to his own sodding chagrin, his attention kept flicking towards his deputy – try as he might, he couldn't keep his eyes off Sam.

'Bit of a handful, that one?'

Gene could have laughed, snorted in annoyance instead. 'More than you'd ever care to know.'

It was another hour before Harry took his leave, going off to meet with those mates that he'd mentioned before, and Gene let three minutes tick by on the clock before he couldn't possibly take it anymore.

Gene stalked across the pub and took Sam by the leather-clad arm, and with one sharp tug he pulled him away from the bar. Sam didn't do much in the way of resisting, as though he knew whatever happened next was only what he deserved – that, or he really just wanted it, too. It couldn't just be that Sam was, in fact, such a good boy when he put to his mind to it, adding in the fact that Sam knew he was the one in the wrong. No, it couldn't just be that.

He did give an annoyed little huff, smiled at his bird. 'Good night, Annie.'

Cartwright gave a little shake of her head, curls bouncing, her smile small and tight. 'Good night, Sam – Guv.'

He flashed a grin at her, gave a sharp nod of his head, and continued to drag Sam towards the front door. 'I need to have some words with you, Gladys,' was all he said, but the words were loaded. Sam tensed beneath him, but he carried on calmly enough. Right, he's certainly not a good boy at all – Gene could have cut the anticipation with a knife. Whatever was coming, whatever ended up happening, Sam _wanted it_.

Five minutes later, and Gene's only just getting to any of that. 'You're a bloody dirty slag, but you knew that already, didn't you?'

What he really means to say is, you're cracked as a loon and you must get off on the thrill of _too much_ being _more than enough_. A flash of a grin is Sam's response, the downward flicker of his gaze. Some other bloke might think it a submissive gesture, Sam showing remorse for doing what he's done, though Gene's finally starting to see what his Di's really like – and a show of remorse, this is not. He's becoming something of an expert in what makes Sam tick, at least since they started shagging: the gesture is calculated, coy, something meant to get at Gene, to dig too deep, get beneath his skin. It's what Sam does, mostly because Gene lets him – does Gene ever really _let_ him do anything? Sam knows exactly what he's doing, and he's going to get exactly what he wants.

Because, like always – this has happened enough for this to be an _always_ – it's working.

Oh, the loony bastard definitely gets off on the thrill of it – he's running the risk of it right now, holding his tongue and attempting to play the fool. He looks up slowly, and amber-dark eyes meet clear green. Lamplight catches along the messy edges of Sam's hair, makes him stand out in sharp relief against the brick wall at his back. There are times that Gene's not sure that Sam's even real, but there's no questioning it right now.

'Am I talking to myself here? Asked you a question, Tyler.'

Sam stares back at him, hesitates a moment more, the pink of his tongue flicking out and darting across his lips. More silence, sod it all, and he should just knock some sense into Sam only Gene's sorely lacking in that department himself, at least as the moment stands. He pants, a flicker of heat working its way down to his groin.

'That – bloody hell, _that_. What you do to me, you've no ruddy clue.'

Gene says nothing else, but neither does Sam. Laughter rolls at them from a distance, which gives Sam time to ponder whatever response he might give – he really should say something, it's just not natural for him to act _demure_. Down at the mouth of the alley, someone is passing by, the Railway Arms just two lanes away. It's a bit of risk, but nothing too much – they're so far off from the street now, they've gone from dark again to lamp-lit gloom. That might just be what Gene's telling himself. It's one thing, misappropriating rooms at the station when neither of them can keep their hands to themselves. Is he absolutely willing to have sex with his DI in public?

'Are you hinting at something, Guv? Because I don't quite get what you're trying to say.'

Of course he is, because the way Sam's looking at him is wrong in all the right ways, and the stirring in Gene's trousers is getting to be too much. He has to force the words out – getting his tongue to work is a bit trickier than he'd have liked. 'Acting like that, in front of my – in front of Harry. Disrespectful.'

'Drinking out of your glass?' The grin widens, the shadows from the overhead light stretching wide as well. 'I might have acted with less than the correct amount of decorum, but it's your own bloody fault for not having the proper number of tumblers on hand. And anyhow, it's not like he knows anything, Gene – I was hardly acting that obvious. Don't see why it's got your knickers in a twist.'

'Don't really know what he was talking about,' Gene snaps, growls. 'You're not well-trained at all.'

Sam keeps grinning, one more pass of his tongue over his pale, pretty lips. Oh, he's really asking for it now, nearly begging for it. Gene, effortlessly, pushes Sam's shoulder back to the wall, and the ease of which he pins his deputy in place makes him feel like this is just as calculated. Sam's playing a game here, one he's set on winning. For all Gene knows he needs to cut this off while he still can, Sam's too bloody appealing by far – the fights, the kissing, the shagging. Bloody hell, the _shagging_. They're a pair of unnatural bastards and Sam won't ever know how that twists his insides up in knots, how wrong they both are because of it, something he should have said at the start of it only now it's too sodding late. Still, the sex is bloody well the best he's ever had. Well, at least the best he's had over the last decade – it feels like admitting defeat, giving Sam any more credit than that.

He already gives him too much.

Gene squeezes the shoulder beneath his hand, tests the leather, the skin and bone and muscle buried beneath, feels the way Sam tenses, ever so slightly, in reaction. Sam tilts his head to the side, reveals the long curve of his throat, a glimmer of light, a whole lot of shadow, and as Gene lifts one hand to cup Sam's jaw, he bends his head low. Low, enough to lick a long, slow line, from the edge of a brightly striped collar, all the way up to the flutter of pulse thrumming below the skin beneath Sam's ear.

He stops, of course, as another drunken laugh ripples from the alleyway's opening, and they both stand perfectly still, Gene's open mouth pressed to the heat of Sam's skin. A groan, one he can't claim as his own, and then Sam starts flapping his lips: 'I really don't mind that none of this is real. Certainly feels like it is. Especially the parts of it that hurt.'

His hand is at Gene's neck now, fingers pressing and dragging downwards, straight down to Gene's collar. The moment breaks as Gene backs off, and Sam's hand falls away, his eyes gone wide as Gene squeezes his shoulder and then spins him about.

'Need a bit of pain, is that it?' He breathes that question, rough and low, to the shell of Sam's ear. Sam shivers, does it again as Gene licks around the circle of his earlobe. 'Cause I'm happy to give you what you need, Tyler.'

Sam grunts, _mmm_ , shifting his arms to better support himself, now that he's been pressed face first to the wall. 'I'm glad you think that – no one else can.' That leaves Gene, for a moment at least, feeling proprietary as well as confused. He spends way too much time around Sam as it is, it's not like Sam would be getting anything else on the side. Gene definitely doesn't like being made to feel _jealous_ about Sam, seeing that the bloke is a nutter. One who happens to have a gorgeous, if also somewhat scrawny, arse.

Gene kicks at Sam's booted foot, makes him spread his legs wider. 'More symbolism, Guv?' Sam must be smiling, at the very least, Gene's almost sure he's hearing it, in each and every word he's said. Gene lets them stand in the silence that rushes in afterwards, feels it wrap about them. He bites at the button of one glove, pulls it off and shoves it into a pocket. The next beat follows, and Gene's got one of his hands at the fastening of Sam's trousers, the other rising up to press – firmly but not too much – at Sam's throat. Little prick must love that he's kept at least one of his gloves on, but then, Gene had expected his DI to be a kinky bastard from the start.

'So, this you on a good day?' He licks at Sam's ear, nips at it, and the only answer Sam gives him is a long, shuddering groan, the sort that vibrates through his fingers, down the whole of his arm, only serves to throw kindling onto the heat and tension that is the fire growing in his trousers.

'Might just be,' Sam breathes out, slow, _low_ , panting as he pushes his hips backwards, cloth rubbing hard against cloth. 'Guv, I need – '

'You need to keep your hands where they are – no touching yourself, do you understand that, Inspector? And no more trying to hump yourself dry, tonight we're doing this my way.'

'Don't we always?' But for all the rebellion in his question, Sam nods, the whole of his body thrumming below Gene's hands, the greedy little arse wanting what he's going to get. He works Sam's belt open, his fly, gets the zip out as Sam bends his head forward, leans his weight into the wall.

He has to let go of Sam's throat, needs both his hands to shove down trousers and pants, just enough to expose Sam's buttocks to the chill of the dark, cold night, as well as Gene's own greedy hands. 'Good thing,' Sam breathes out, low as a hiss, as Gene gets as much of Sam's arse in one hand as he can, begins kneading it, the other reclaiming its place at his throat. 'Good thing Harry drove his own car t-tonight, eh? Don't think.... for as much as... you think I was being... disrespectful, before... this would... oh fuck, Guv!'

'What were you saying, Inspector?'

Sam groans, but it's more annoyance than anything else, Gene stopping the massaging and dragging two fingers down between the crack of those distractingly pale globes. 'If a bit of flirtatious teasing in the office was me being disrespectful, then you about to finger-fuck me in an alley way would be downright indecent, _oh shit_!'

He knows there'd be resistance, Sam hadn't been properly relaxed, and pushing his fingers in that way – even just the tips – took Sam by shock. He's breathing hard now, really panting, the whole of him shuddering, head to foot. 'Can't say I'd want my old Guv seeing you like this,' Gene whispers, presses a kiss to the sweaty skin at the back of Sam's neck, how he tastes like leather as well, and something that seems uniquely _Sam_. 'Cause I've told you already, but you seem to need a reminder – you're _mine_.'

He twists his fingers about, pushing them in deeper, slowly now, but Sam must remember what he'd been told to do – outright ordered, is more like it – and holds himself still and lets Gene be the one who controls how quickly he's being filled. The fingers of his other hand twitch, suggesting to Gene he find something better to occupy it with other than resting, lightly, at Sam's neck. So, instead of sliding downwards and groping for a hold on Sam's dick, he reaches for his own trousers instead.

'You're a dirty little slag though, aren't you?' Another twist, Gene pulling out, pumping his fingers back in, all the muscles of Sam's arse tensing around him, _clenching_. 'You're my dirty little slag. Jesus, Sam. You really don't know what you do to me, do you?'

Sam moans, breathy, low. 'I'm s-starting to get it, I think.'

Gene bites at Sam's neck as he gropes with his own belt, his buttons, the zip that acts like it's caught on empty air, and it takes Gene a good minute more than he'd like to waste on getting it down. Shit, he doesn't want this – he really should have known it was a bad idea, that first mutual hand-job in the Cortina, and Gene – having been desperate for touch, really shouldn't have followed that up by shagging Sam in his flat. There's nothing right about this, not resting his aching prick in the cleft of Sam's arse, not finally, _finally_ , reaching round to grab at Sam's own weeping cock, start pumping it. There's a rhythm between them, Gene rocking against the heat of Sam's arse, one hand latched at a hip to give himself some leverage, the other pulling Sam to his end.

No, nothing right about this at all, but there's nothing to be done about that, because Sam won't ever _know_. No one will. This is theirs, _his_ , the dirty little secret they can both carry to their graves. It'll likely end tomorrow, but Gene's allowed to hope for more.

Sam makes a sound, and Gene gives up on pumping on his cock. Sam whines when he takes his hand off it, covers Sam's mouth with musky-smelling skin. He grunts and humps harder, pre-come leaking out and glistening some in the weak overhead light. Sam forces some words out, muffled by Gene's fingers – that one was _fuck_ , and a few others _no, no, **no** , you're not playing **fair**_.

'Shut up, you dirty little slut, shut up – fuck, Sam, take it, bloody hell, take it.' He snaps his hips forward and slams against Sam's buttocks, the shock of the pain sending him over the edge – the orgasm rolls down through him and makes him feel vaguely light-headed as he comes, splattering all over Sam's backside. Oh, he's really all Gene's now, isn't he? Other than when he gets those funny little looks when he's talking to Cartwright, Gene mostly has no doubts.

Now Gene's the one who's breathing hard, grabbing hold of Sam, whatever bits of him he can manage – an arm, a sweaty stretch of his side – as he leans into him, panting, still rocking his spent cock against the stickiness of his release. His chest hurts, his head is spinning.

Sam growls. ' _Gene_.' Oh right, now Sam's mouth is free. And Sam still needs attending to. Gene's not that much of a bastard, after all.

He huffs out a laugh, presses a wet kiss to Sam's neck – oh, that same spot he'd bit at, previously, here's hoping he's left a good mark – licks at it, sucks, is deeply gratified when Sam shivers and moans. 'You'd best,' he starts, but Gene doesn't let him finish it, takes another nip instead, steals Sam's words right out from under him.

'What? What more do you need from me, Tyler?'

'Just, just,' Sam is vibrating against him, pushing back. 'I need to – '

'To come for your Guv, eh? Course that's what you need.'

He doesn't know what makes it work – between the sound Sam makes, the way his legs almost give out beneath him, he comes and Gene's hand isn't even on him, not properly. It sweeps through him and leaves him shaking, scrabbling at the brickwork to keep himself standing – and he'd already been shaking, so now he's really acting like he's been absolutely, thoroughly wrecked. They're both left panting, and it would be a gross and outright lie if Gene were to say he didn't just want to collapse against Sam, drag them both to the ground.

There really are better places for shagging – proper shagging, that is – even if Sam's bedsit is a shitty nightmare, and his bed is some sort of metal torture device. One of these days he'll have to get it in his deputy's thick skull that he bloody well deserves better, that he can afford it – Gene knows what his wage packet is, after all.

Of course, he ought to learn how to take care of himself in general, and wouldn't that just make life easy as pie? Definitely can't ever see that happen, as if Sam's partial to the misery. 'Just wait until we get to round two,' he murmurs, though he wants to say so much more. Beneath him, Sam rather wearily, laughs. 

'I'm waiting with... with bated breath here, Guv. My place, then?'

He pushes back, swats at Sam's sticky arse – the sound on flesh on flesh rings out, loud and clear – and Sam gives a startled little groan, a chuckle that's just as worn down. 'Fuck.'

'Tidy yourself up, Inspector,' he says, wiping his hand off on the tail end of Sam's untucked shirt. He turns about, glares at him, yanking up pants and trousers as Gene starts to right himself as well.

'You're a real bastard, you know that, right?'

There's no denying that Gene is what he is, just the same as Sam being what _he_ is, and the both of them being so bloody wrong because of it, there's no point to say otherwise. Gene cocks his head to the side as he grins, reaches out to slowly swipe a finger across Sam's pretty, dangerous lips.

'So says the bloody dirty slag.'


End file.
